


Nightmares Of The Expanse

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-24
Updated: 2006-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: What keeps you up at night, or makes you wish you'd never slept. Spoilers up to 3.02 "Anomaly." (11/04/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Beta by The Quiz Mistress.  
  
Spoilers for 1.05 "Unexpected," 2.08 "The Communicator," 2.21 "The Breach," 2.26 "The Expanse," 3.02 "The Anomoly."  
  
AN: Hello to you all. I'm happy to be here. Here a little something horrible for Halloween. This fic also explains several odd, illogical, minor plot points in Season 3. Violent images.  


* * *

It is late in Beta shift. Sub Commander T'Pol rolls up her sleeve. The doctor will take a blood sample. He has developed an anti- inflammatory specifically to reduce the inflammation around key neural tissue caused by Pa'nar Syndrome. He is concerned of side effects and she has been giving regular blood samples to monitor for any possible organ damage.

He has already asked her, as is his routine, how she "feels." It is a human expression, and inaccurate, but she has long ago ceased trying to make conversation on Enterprise more precise. As she has for the last four months, she responds, "Tired, but not to an extent to reduce function." He always seems to find this (her manner, not her message) slightly amusing. But then the Denobulan finds many things slightly amusing. It is a somewhat 'unusual' characteristic, but at least it is consistent. The Humans show widely varying emotional states, with degrees and extents that are unique to each individual. It requiresâ€”patience.

"Sub-Commander," says Doctor Phlox. "Have your sessions with Commander Tucker been going well? Hmmmm?"

"Commander Tucker remains hesitant to make use of the technique on a regular basis. For instance, he excused himself tonight. Despite my assurances, he appearsâ€”concernedâ€”that other crewmembers have misconstrued the content of his visits to my quarters. I took the liberty of suggesting that we conduct the sessions in sickbayâ€”I did not think you would objectâ€”but he seemed acutely embarrassed."

"Why ever for?"

"It would not be an optimal solution; a quieter place is appropriate for the technique. I did not pursue the idea. I believe he would prefer for us not to be seen by others, even accidentally. I did not say his reaction was logical. However, you will recall, Doctor, that not everyone is comfortable undressing where others can see them."

The reminder of his own similar feelings of embarrassment flusters Phlox momentarily. He had thought humans were less inhibited.

T'Pol continues, "However, Mr. Tucker assures me that when he does have a session, his sleep patterns are uninterrupted and more restorative. In some ways I am surprised, as human nerve tissue does not have all the same characteristics as Vulcan neural node tissue. Have you considered that the effect may be that of a placebo?"

"Of, course, Sub-Commander. Of course. Placebos are occasionally extremely effective in Humansâ€”and Vulcans."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Merely that your ability to bond with this human crew has never been more important than it is now. Shared experience and the ability to help one's co-workers in direct and personal ways is exceedingly important to establishing such bonds."

T'Pol has a sudden and intense sensation of heat somewhere in her neck and face. She comes very close to what she recognizes as an emotional reaction. "Doctor, I would prefer if suchâ€”experimentationâ€”were pursued in a more open and logical fashion."

"But you know how placebos work, Sub-Commander. I did feel the time was right to let you determine the effectiveness of such treatment. It appears to have helped your co-worker. You may wish to consider if it has helped you."

"I will consider it. I must admit that it is difficult to properly conduct the neural pressure technique on myself, alone. If there continues to be any positive result for the Commander, to continue it is logical." The doctor is grinning at her. She finds itâ€”disconcerting.

Phlox remembers something, "Sub-Commander. I am aware that Vulcans experience a Rapid Eye Movement portion of sleep, but I have heard you say that Vulcans do not dream. In Humans and my own species, the REM phase of sleep is where dreaming occurs, whether or not the sleeper is later aware of it. Do Vulcans sense any activity during REM?"

She pauses. Despite his jocular manner, and the inappropriate way he has arranged for her and Tucker's interaction, she has found Doctor Phlox to follow ethical restraints of confidentiality that she considers appropriate. She knows that he is fully aware of several Vulcan physiological traits and abilities that have not been made generally known to non-Vulcans, yet he has not shared them with the human crew.

"Vulcans are capable of dreaming, but we consider it illogical, and problematic in regards emotional control. To avoid dreaming that is sensate and memorable, we meditate prior to sleep. This does not totally obviate the condition of "dreaming", but reduces its frequency and the "detail" of dreams. Generally there is only the sensation, on waking, of a passage of time."

"Ahhh...as you know, we Denobulans do not sleep on a daily basis. But we too, employ a relaxation routine of no more than a few minutes each day."

"Are dreams something that occur during your yearly hibernation period?"

"Oh, yes. And we are occasionally known to "nod off" as the Humans put it, during our daily relaxation periods and sometimes dream. But during hibernation we have quite vivid and detailed dreams, the ones that are remembered. There is quite a bit of research indicating that the vast majority of our dreams are lost, and not remembered."

Doctor Phlox removes the sample from the scanner when the chime rings and examines the readout. "Well, Sub-Commander," he says. "This blood sample indicates that the treatment is not causing any side effects at this point in time."

She thanks him and leaves sickbay.

Phlox checks the animals. Everything has been fed. His medical logs are up to date. He does his nightly check of the pharmaceuticals and hazardous materials. Everything is safely locked up. Mr. Reed has always insisted on seeing a daily notification for security checks, but since this mission started the Captain has requested a weekly summary as well.

It's really quite quiet tonightâ€”there are no patients in sickbay. What does Crewman Cutler call gamma shift?â€”the graveyard shift. Interesting human metaphor, to associate the darkness of night with death, or to associate the ceremonial and hygienic disposal of the dead with evil. Also interesting as 'night' is an artifical concept in space. Most interesting.

Phlox sits down at his desk. He does several deep breathing exercises, and relaxes. A quarter of a ship time hour always suffices with another at the beginning of alpha shift.

There is a disturbance in the corridor. He can hear a muffled cry of pain. A male human scream. Phlox rises to see the door to sickbay open and Captain Archer rushes in. He's carrying someone. It is Commander Tucker.

"Help him!" Archer orders. "It's the baby, the Xyrillian."

And it is. The Captain lays the Commander on a bed and the engineer immediately tries to curl away from them, but he really can't. The fetus' gestation proceeded quite rapidly; it's huge, taking up a very large percentage of Tucker's abdomen and even encroaching on the chest cavity on one side. Phlox has obviously been monitoring the progress and although Commander Tucker has been in substantial discomfort, there has been no sign of danger, until now. He has not stopped screaming since he came through the door in the Captain's arms.

Tucker is in loose fitting underclothing. The shorts are soaked in blood; the intestines may be perforated; he is hemorrhaging. The skin is pale, damp, cool to the touch. Phlox runs the scans and leans over to tap the COM and say, "Medical emergency. Crewman Cutler and...Sub Commander T'Pol to sickbay immediately." T'Pol is as well versed with the situation as anyone as the head of Sciences. He will need help; the infant must be removed as quickly as possible. Tucker is bleeding internally. There is trauma to the intestines, stomach, spleen; the Xyrillian infant is in distress. It is literally fighting to free itself.

Phlox tells the captain to roll the Commander on his side. He injects a nerve-blocking anesthetic into Tucker's spine. There is instant relief on the man's face when he is placed onto his back. Tucker moans, "Thing's tearin' me up, Cap'n." Archer tries to reassure his friend. Phlox brings a tray of equipment for the operation. As he is hooking up an IV for a blood substitute, Crewman Cutler and the Sub- Commander both enter, Cutler with a robe thrown over her nightclothes. Phlox quickly explains that they will operate to remove the infant, and then must rapidly repair the internal injuries Tucker has sustained.

Suddenly Tucker gives a heaving sigh and goes limp. The bioscanners flat line. "Cutler" Phlox says, "Prepare to apply cardiac stimulation." He instructs T'Pol to inject the Commander with an adrenalin-based compound, as he intubates Tucker and sets the respirator in place. Cutler shouts for clearance and shocks the Commander, but there is no response. Phlox takes the scalpel and swiftly opens the abdominal cavity. The hemorrhaging has come from dozens of locations. The cystoblast surrounding the infant is punctured and deteriorated in multiple places. Phlox swiftly opens it, clamps off the infant's blood supply in two locations and then severs the point between and removes the infant, handing it to T'Pol. "Again" he has called to Cutler, but there is no result to the stimulation.

Phlox and Cutler work over Tucker, time is passing. He even tries direct manual stimulation of the heart, reaching through the perforated diaphragm. He is vaguely aware that T'Pol is attempting to revive the infant. Then Phlox is aware that Cutler has stepped back from the bed. She is panting and starring behind the doctor. There is blood everywhere. It has pooled on the floor. Phlox feels a hand on his shoulder.

Captain Archer is pulling him back.

"Stop," he says. "Stop now."

Doctor Phlox turns back to the bed. The respirator is still inflating and deflating Tucker's lungs. The Captain motions and Cutler turns it off.

T'Pol speaks to him. "Doctor," she says. "The Xyrillian. It is dead." And it is. She is holding a blanket wrapped object. It seems entirely too big. It is silent and still.

Phlox turns back to the bed. Cutler has removed the respirator and is suturing the abdominal cavity closed. She has already closed Tucker's eyes and wiped the blood from his face, nearly chalk white. She has explained to Phlox before that it is customary for many humans to present the dead body in an intact state, mimicking sleep, before burial or cremation.

Phlox looks to Captain Archer. The human's face is like stone.

"I am very sorry, Captain. There was nothing that could be done."

"You're wrong," says Archer.

"Something could have been done six months ago when we couldn't find the Xyrillians. Something could have been done. But no, you convinced Trip to keep it. You convinced him that it would be no danger, that it would be like aborting his own child; you knew just how to play him; you're a psychologist; you had his profile."

Phlox is backing up. "I assure you, Captain..."

"It was an amazing experiment for you, wasn't it? That's what we are, Phlox, experiments, like your animals. You've been so busy, monitoring him, writing papers."

"Eight as of last week." says T'Pol.

The Captain has backed him against the biobed. Phlox can feel the dampness of Tucker's blood, pooling on the bed, now soaking through the back of his tunic.

"No, sir." says Phlox. "The Commander's health was my primary concern..."

"That's a lie. If that had been the truth you would have removed that parasite as soon as you found it. You didn't have Trip's interest at heart, you badgered him into carrying that poor...thing. You didn't even care about it. The Antaran was right, you Denoblians are cold hearted killers, ready to experiment on other species..."

Suddenly there is a security team in the room, Lieutenant Reed and three other men.

"Take him to the brig." says Archer.

Reed is on him in an instant, twisting one of his arms up behind him. Reed hisses into his ear, "His blood is on your hands, you bastard."

It is quite true.

They are rushing him out of sickbay, and down the corridor, jostling him, shaking him.

"Doctor? Doctor Phlox?"

Phlox started as he looked up, Lieutenant Reed standing next to him and shaking his shoulder. Phlox lurches away and to his feet, only to stumble and have Reed take his arm again to steady him.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant I was in a light meditative state. It...it does not normally result in such, ah, inattention. What can I do for you?"

Reed's eyes are red and irritated. He is suffering from allergy symptoms, possibly caused by dust or mold present on the alien sphere they had explored. Phlox gives him an injection. Once the Lieutenant has left, the Doctor goes to the washroom and washes his face with cold water. He busies himself with medical journals, trying very hard not to think about extraneous subjects.

* * *

Mayweather is flying. It's not the shuttle pod, it's an antique aircraft. He's been in a simulator before at a museum in San Francisco. He is flying it fairly low over a flat and barren plain. The ground is swales of featureless dried grass below him; the sky is a tawny yellow. It's hard to see where the ground and sky meet, but he has a horizon indicator on the cockpit readout. He doesn't really like this. The open sky is so huge, and bright. It has no stars. Space seems cozy and enclosed to him, as if the stars are very close. When he is planet side, he prefers to be inside buildings or under trees or somewhere else where he can feel less exposed. He's not afraid; he's just uncomfortable.

Captain Archer is in the co-pilot's seat. "We're lost," he says. He looks angry.

"No, sir." says Mayweather, glancing at the flight plan and their heading. "We're right where we ought to be." But that somehow seems wrong as soon as he says it. Archer points to the flight plan, and now Mayweather can see that it's totally wrong. The plan has mountains and rivers indicated; heading changes they should make based on those features.

"Travis, you've gotten us lost," says the Captain.

Mayweather turns and shakes his head and starts to say something to Captain Archer. At that moment Archer says, "Pull up, pull up!"

They are in a mountain range. They are flying below the tops of the peaks. They are headed straight for the slope of one mountain. He pulls up, but the plane isn't responding fast enough. They skim the lower slope and the craft cartwheels.

Mayweather is now walking across the mountain slope. Archer is not there, the plane is not there. His leg is hurting. He comes to a crevice in the rocks, like a small cave, and crawls inside. Now the open sky is nowhere to be seen. He'll wait here until he feels better.

Later his alarm wakes him to start a double gamma-alpha shift. The sheet has managed to wrap itself tightly around one leg. As he frees himself and stretches, he gets a cramp in the ball of that foot. By the time he is stomping, limping in small circles around the small open space in his room, he can't remember what he was dreaming about, but he feels uneasy. He feels that way a lot, now. He doesn't know exactly why. Its normal, Travis thinks. We all feel that way.

* * *

Sato knows, in some vague way, that it is a dream. She is an adult, but she is being taught by Ms. T'Pak, a Vulcan anthropologist her parents have contacted. Ms. T'Pak taught her to speak and read Vulcan when she was six years old. Ms. T'Pak is showing her a logic game, placing tiles with Vulcan "letters" to form words. They speak together in a mixture of Vulcan and English Standard. As Vulcans first contacted Americans and had been monitoring radio signals for years, the majority of them in English, most Vulcans will speak only Standard.

Her father comes into the room, bows to Ms. T'Pak and then sits silently watching them. He does not speak Vulcan, but he watches as he generally does. At one point in the lesson, Hoshi turns to the window when she hears a bird. The bird tells her, "Your grandfather is watching you. He misses you very much." The bird speaks Japanese.

Now Ms. T'Pak is gone and her father scolds her for not paying attention to Ms. T'Pak at all times. He always looks very sad when he scolds her, and reminds her of how much effort he and her mother have gone to to allow her to have these language lessons. How she is very special and how important it is for her to learn. How her father really knows that she can learn all these things, but she must try harder to pay attention. As she is scolded, she changes, and now she is a little girl.

He tells her that it's important that she learn these languages because the Xindi are their enemies and she must translate their language. Her father is not her father now, he is Captain Archer. She feels very ashamed. They are walking through the corridors of Enterprise and he is holding her hand, 'so you won't get hurt'. Two little boys run past them, and although they are little boys she knows that they are Travis and Malcolm. "Come and play," says Malcolm. He is speaking Mandarin. "You never have any fun. You are always so upset and cross." says Travis in Arabic.

Captain Archer scolds them both for bothering her and sends them away. "Hoshi can't come and play," he says. And she knows that they will never come back and ask for her to play again. The Captain takes her to the Tactical Room. And shows her to a station. The monitor is scrolling Xindi Script.

"You must translate this," he says, "Or we'll all die."

"I can't read this," she says.

"You must," her Grandfather says. "If you don't, I'll leave you again."

Sato stares at the symbols. But nothing makes sense. It is so frustrating. It is so sad. They will all die and she will not be able to help them.

She wakes up and she is really crying. Sato is not sure why. She decides not to try to sleep again. It was something about the translation she is working on. She has been able to translate the symbols for numbers, and units of measurement from technical schematics. But the language itself remains elusive.

She has a tremendous fear that she will let them down, again. And she doesn't know why she thought that, because she hasn't let them down before. She washes up and goes to the mess for tea and soup.

* * *

It's different every time. He never knows it's coming.

Elizabeth comes to the door of his bedroom. "Trip, Daddy wants to know if you've cleaned out the shed."

He is reading comic books on a flimsy-PADD.

"Tell him, I'll get around to it."

She throws a pile of unfolded clean clothing, his, that she has brought up with her, at him. Socks and shirts, underwear, goes everywhere.

She says, "A round Tuit won't work, this time. Only a square Tuit will do."

She turns and runs, laughing, and he throws off the clothes and rushes down the stairs after her. He catches her and starts tickling her. She shrieks and slaps at his hands. "Stop it, Trip, stop!"

"Ah won't. Gonna make you..."

She freezes. "Darn it, stop!"

He stops. She's staring into space.

"What is it?" he says.

"Ah thought Ah heard something."

"Oh, yew didn't, either." He says, but stops tickling her. Tucker passes her and goes outside through the kitchen door. Elizabeth follows him.

"Trip, somethin's wrong."

"Look, Li'l Bit, I don't have time to play your game today."

"No, Trip, really." She's really scared; he can hear it in her voice. He glances up and around, but nothing looks wrong.

Then the wind starts blowing, pretty hard, and out of the north, which is strange. Suddenly, Elizabeth grabs his hand and starts pulling him.

"What? What?" he asks.

"We have ta run," she says, and she starts running.

At first she's practically dragging him along, but then he starts running, too. They run across the neighbor's yard and when they clear the trees he sees it. It's not a tornado or a waterspout, it's flame. It comes up very fast, the wind, and dust and hunks of trees and homes, blowing ahead of it. It hits them, hard, and he's being dragged along the ground.

He gets to his feet and he's standing in the trench. He's not a kid anymore; he's wearing his uniform. The trench is a good quarter-mile wide, and facing him is the edge, as high as a two-story building.

He's stunned and looks around.

"Lizzie!" he yells. "Lizzie!" No one answers him. He knows that she is dead, but he wants to find her. He didn't do that before. He starts looking around him and he sees bones everywhere. Dry, burnt bones. None of them are human. The skulls are different. Some have long curving finger bones, that he realizes are not fingers, but flippers. Some aren't bones at all, but are brittle shells, like the husks cicadas leave when they molt.

As he's been looking, the trench has has gotten darker, and wetter. At first he's been walking in mud, then water, and now he's wading through some stinking liquid. He can barely see Malcolm up ahead of him, shining a light. "She's up here," Reed says, and turns and hurries away. The wet is up to his thighs and then, his waist, and under the surface his feet are crunching and stumbling on more of the alien bones.

He realizes that he's standing in blood. Malcolm is there with the light. Malcolm tells him, "Trip, what you're looking for is down under the surface." He has to bend down into the blood, it's coming up past his chin. He feels some hair and pulls.

It's a Xindi, and looks like some sort of an insect. It's just a bit smaller that he is. But it has long, lank hair hanging off its head. Somehow he knows it's a female. Somehow he knows he killed it, and all the other Xindi he's been walking though.

"There," says Malcolm, all covered, like him, in blood. "That's better now, isn't it?"

He wakes and sweat is pouring off of him. The chrono by the bed says he's only been asleep two hours. He feels like he's been running a race. The thought that he ought to get out of bed and try to go to work is almost more than he can bear.

"Oh, Lizzie." he whispers. "I could do this if it hadn't been you." He doesn't know how long he can keep this up. He is running on empty. The hate is leaching slowly away and he doesn't have anything to take its place.

* * *

T'Pol meditates in silence, focusing on the candle.

When she is finished she feels refreshed but ready for sleep. She has removed the earlier "feeling" or "sensation" she experienced when Doctor Phlox revealed hisâ€”misdirection. She is well aware of the placebo effect, and as she is aware of the benefits of mental exercises on physical functions such as in biofeedback and meditation, she is not surprised by the benefits. However, that Phlox would use a subterfuge to initiate the contact was disturbing. However, she tells herself that she has dismissed this as a concern.

She lies in bed and feels the alert state of consciousness fade away.

She is home on Vulcan walking through the desert.

Music, deep throated horns.

The view of Enterprise from Jupiter Station.

Soval complaining that her accent has changed.

Leaves, yellow and green, blowing in the wind. A small bit of debris catches in her eye. She rubs it, but the speck remains. Captain Archer tells her to stand still and he is leaning over her. One hand on the side of her face, the fingers of the other gently pulling her eyelid.

A glass tumbler full of water.

A news report from Earth shown in the mess hall. There is a dark skinned Human female screaming in a language T'Pol does not know on the edge of the pit. Men grapple her to prevent her from throwing herself in. She hears a sound to her left and turns to see Lieutenant Reed is starring down at his own clenched fists in his lap. She turns quickly away; there seems to be something wrong with her throat.

The smell of decomposing flesh on board the Seleya.

There is a loose key on her station's display control.

She wears a scarf over her hair and ears when entering an eating establishment in San Francisco. When she orders a fruit juice the Human behind the counter takes a very long time. The juice has an odd smell as she drinks it. She realizes that the young Human has placed her own saliva in the cup with the juice.

The dead Xindi pilot. Captain Archer keeps looking at this picture. She has noticed it several times on the monitor in his workroom.

Commander Tucker, his face livid with rage, threatens to shoot her.

She is struggling to free herself from the ropes binding her to Captain Archer. He smells of cooked meat, dirty clothing, sweat, and his dog.

Ensign Sato addresses her, speaking Vulcan. She tells T'Pol that she is as much of a disgrace to her family as her grandmother was.

The gravimetric sphere. It cracks open and there are maggots growing inside. A creature in Captain Archer's uniform offers her some to eat.

Crewman Fuller brings her a report. She points out a huge burn through the chest of his uniform. He looks surprised, glances down, and says in a hesitant voice, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I think I'm dead."

The cloaked cell ship door opens and Commander Tucker leaps outside. He has utterly surprised them and manages to stun the five aliens in a matter of moments. She follows him, and standing on the ground below the platform she watches as Tucker stands by the dangling bulk of Lieutenant Reed's corpse and attempts to get its weight up onto his shoulder in order to slacken the rope. The Captain's corpse slowly rotates. His dead eyes stare at her. Tucker bawls, red faced with tears, "You get Jonny, dammit, you're stronger than I am." She turns and runs away from the building, the courtyard, the dead Human bodies.

Her mother is telling her, "You must stop this now. I forgive you for resigning your commission, but you must stop this now. You will be injured otherwise."

Wind chimes.

Commander Tucker tells her that they will have movie night again. She finds herself wondering if it will be a "western". The Human, John Ford, was a genius.

The stars over Vulcan. She is sitting on the roof of her parents' home.

A red flower growing in a pot on a doorstep.

A tracery of nebula. Captain Archer looksâ€”happy.

Insects singing in the darkness. The sensation of the passage of time. She can see nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

She will wake to her alarm and remember the desert, the red flower on the doorstep, and the insects singing.

* * *

Reed showers before going to bed, hoping the steam will open up his congested sinuses. It has been an uneventful but depressing day. He has gone through the protocols for maintaining prisoners with his people, as well as the military personnel. It is not a subject Star Fleet gave enough thought to prior to this mission. He borrowed protocols from police and military to write the processes that Star Fleet approved prior to their leaving Jupiter Station. He'd like some consistency, but he understands that they have no precedent for their situation. He worries about the Captain. But Reed veers in his own mind from favoring brutal practicality and following rights and rules made for humans, acting with other humans.

The medication is starting to make him very sleepy. He dries off, places his boots and a clean uniform close to hand, and goes to bed.

Humans have solved so many of their own problems, thank heavens, Reed thinks, as he begins to drift off. Now we have to determine what to do with other species.

His COM wakes him. It's the Captain. He must come to the brig immediately. There is a Xindi prisoner. Good God, how did this happen? Reed thinks as he rushes into his uniform and runs down the passageways to the brig.

Enterprise didn't even have a brig until now, which had resulted in rather haphazard methods including confining people to their quarters, air locks, and sickbay.

Including himself, he thinks, with some shame.

The brig was substantially built on his design, but when he enters, there is something different there. There is a rough wooden bench setting in the cell. Lying back down and tied to the bench, its hands bound underneath the wooden plank, is a figure. The figure's legs are parted enough that the ankles are tied together under the bench as well. It appears to be like the Xindi they took from the mining planetâ€”a humanoid.

Captain Archer says, "I need your help to interrogate the prisoner."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain stands near the bench so that he is looking down onto the figure. He asks for the coordinates of the weapon-building site, but the Xindi remains silent.

The Captain bends and picks up a sheet of thick absorbent toweling and drops it into a bucket of water. Then he gestures to Reed.

Reed hesitates. The bucket is wooden, in fact bamboo. He doesn't know where it came from. The Captain barks, "Lieutenant".

Reed gives a curt bow to Archer. Then he bends and lifts the sopping cloth out of the bucket and places in on the Xindi's face. The Xindi struggles. Then Reed knows what the Captain wants him to do. He takes the bucket's dipper and begins to pour water over the cloth.

The Captain asks the question again. Reed is very hot. The lantern is smoking and swinging slightly, throwing shadows on the wooden walls. The Xindi thrashes his head back and forth. The Captain motions and Reed removes the cloth. The Xindi gasps for breath.

The Captain waits for a moment to see if the prisoner will start to talk. Reed does not enjoy this job, but it is his duty to the Emperor and his homeland, and that is all that is necessary. The Xindi does not speak. Reed can hear the jungle insects outside the room.

The Captain motions again. Reed snaps a bow. "Hai" and then puts the wet cloth back on the prisoner's face. The Captain does not stop him after one dipper full of water, so he repeats the action. The man on the bench thrashes so hard that he is moving the bench to one side. The prisoner is choking.

The Captain himself pulls up a corner of the cloth to allow the prisoner a split second of breath, then drops it again. Reed can see the man's face under the cloth, his mouth opening and closing. As the Captain directs he pours another dipper over the face of the big- nosed barbarian they are questioning.

The Lieutenant wishes this stupid Englishman would just talk. He almost couldn't revive him when they did this before and he stopped breathing for a moment. He pours another dipper. If the Captain doesn't pause, it will happen again.

Reed is choking to death. The wet cloth is heavy on his face and he can't shake it off. The binding holding his arms tightly under the plank is biting into his skin. They'll let him drown this time. Not like this, anything. He involuntarily sucks in water and his throat is closing up.

Reed rolls out of bed and lands on all fours on the floor tangled in the sheet. He coughs and finally manages to spit out a hunk of mucus. His sinuses seem completely blocked. Whatever Phlox gave him, it isn't working. He staggers into the washroom, plugs the sink and thumbs the hot water control. Leaning over the sink in the steam, Reed realizes that he's shaking. That was a bad one. It's been years since he had a nightmare that bad.

But he has read this dream. Military History. He knows what humans are capable of.

* * *

Archer throws the piece of driftwood down the beach. Porthos, who had been jumping and squirming with anticipation, runs after it, his short legs throwing the sand up from the paw prints he leaves. It's a beautiful day, and the sun is going down, and the wind is unsettled as the breeze starts to turn from a cool one off the ocean to a warm breeze coming off the shore. The gulls play in it, diving and nipping at each other, calling out.

Porthos comes running back and obediently drops the wood at his feet. The dog is so happy to be out in the open air and really running for a change. He wriggles from head to tail. Archer laughs, "Who's a good boy? Hey, who's a good boy?" and he picks up the wood and throws it further this time.

Trip walks out toward the shore from the cliffs, squinting into the setting sun. Archer realizes that this is south of San Jose. San Gregorio, near all the artichoke farms. Trip is smiling; Archer can tell that his friend is happy and relaxed. It has been so long. Trip's still shoeless and wearing his swim trunks, but he's put on one of those monstrous shirts of his now that the sun is going down. His friend is carrying two open bottles of beer and when he gets close he hands one to Archer.

"This is great, Cap'n." he says. "Its good to be home again for a while."

And it is good. It's good to have a home to come back to. It's good to be safe.

Trip produces a lead at the moment Porthos comes up with the driftwood. "Let me take him and walk up the shore for a while. I got the fire going and Rebecca wants you to go help her with the kabobs. You two could use some time without me hangin' around."

Archer's head swings to the base of the cliffs and now he can see Rebecca. She's waving, standing by the fire and the picnic basket and cooler. He calls Porthos and Trip takes the dog. The sun's down now and the horizon is so red and gold that it sets the cliffs to glowing. When he walks up he can feel the warmth of the fire and smell the wood smoke. He and Rebecca put the meal together and Archer rakes out a bed of glowing coals and sets the grill in place.

Rebecca is beautiful. She didn't ever pressure him to stay. But now he's back. She smiles, seems to read his mind, and says, "We're all safe now. You've proven what a ship like the Enterprise can do. For all of us."

He is so happy.

The alarm goes off. Porthos stirs on his pad on the floor. Archer struggles to wake and shuts off the alarm. It's dim, and the air is stale, and the room is a bit humid. It's the biggest quarters on the Enterprise; he can cross it in four strides; he still occasionally bumps his head on the ceiling on one side where the bulkhead dips in. When he looks out the port at the stars these days, sometimes it is like falling into a pit.

The Captain gets out of bed and the nightmare starts again.


End file.
